


The Peony

by Lorein_nur



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Destiny is a character/sentient being in this one, F/M, First Meeting, Fluff, Geralt is Geralt, Half-Elf Jaskier | Dandelion, Implied Half-Fae Jaskier Dandelion, Jaskier is a girl, Magical Jaskier, Pre-Slash, Sassy and Playful Jaskier, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, destiny!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-20
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:35:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22820338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lorein_nur/pseuds/Lorein_nur
Summary: She spots him sitting alone, brooding in the farthest corner in the little tavern of Posada. She hadn’t intended on approaching him, thinking it best to leave the man to his ale, yet something about him called to her and Destiny encouraged her on, so she went.- - - - -Julia Adas has spent her entire life being guided by Destiny’s hand, and though she hasn’t always listened she’s come to realize the elusive spirit really does have her best intentions at heart.From steering her away from tavern drunks, to thrusting her upon a Witcher’s path and admittedly all the monsters they are hired to slaughter...
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, destiny - Relationship
Comments: 92
Kudos: 265





	1. The Peony

**Author's Note:**

> Short Authors Note: I head cannon that if Jaskier were a girl she’d go by Peony rather than Dandelion.

She spots him sitting alone, brooding in the farthest corner in the little tavern in Posada. She hadn’t intended on approaching him, thinking it best to leave the man to his ale, yet something about him called to her and Destiny encouraged her on, so she went. 

It wasn’t the first time Destiny had spoken to her, caressed her name in gentle summer breezes or crackled it with urge in roaring fires. She had heard her call all her life, and though she did not always take the path Destiny tried to lead her on she did eventually find her way back. Sometimes willingly, after a streak of oddly manifested good luck and other times she was practically thrust upon it like when she’d been accosted by another bar drunk. It did not matter how or when nor why it was an inevitable collision, a long-awaited reconnection patiently waiting to occur, it was always with open arms and a sense of home. It was the motherly love she had been robbed of at the “Great Purging”, it was the stern yet gentle guidance of a father she had no recollection of but that of the stories told from mouth to mouth of his great love for her and her mother. 

So she did as Destiny asked and followed the Witcher, regardless of the hackles and hostile grunts. 

Her first adventure at his side was anything but, it had bottled down to justified resentment and a battle to survive, to thrive. Her hard-earned lute had paid the original price though, a fact she would still resent in months to come. The Witcher had done his thing and redirected there would-be murderers' attention, going so far as to take the hits intended for her, she’d gotten off from the whole ordeal with no more than a raised bump on her forehead, and a new lute, a begrudging partying gift, “Compensation for the old one.” the elf king had said. 

So in return she did her thing and strummed along, feeling oddly whole, her own magic intermingling with that of the elder ruins carved on the instruments wood. Had that been the reason Destiny called for her this time? The thought came in passing, brushed away just as quickly as it had popped up at Witcher’s exasperated huffs, a clear indication of his dislike for the newly composed song.

“That’s not what happened.” He said the words barely discernible over the horse's clomped steps. 

“No,” she agreed, turning around and facing him, Destiny’s wind brushing loose strands from her face. “But this way, it will make history.” 

And history it did.


	2. The Witcher

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had too much fun writing this so I decided to expand, hope you enjoy it as much as I did!

Contrary to what the White Wolf had been originally led to believe, Julia Adas Pankratz was far more than just a humble bard. 

It was after the encounter with the elves, after the first week of trudging through mud slimed roads and another contract accepted in return for the not fully paid coin that doubts started to show. There was an inkling. A gentle prod at the back of his skull that told him not everything was quite there with his unwanted companion. For starters, no human would willingly venture to “ _grace a ride-along_ ” any Witcher. It was a death wish not that a Witcher, much less Geralt, would willingly strike down a human. Least of all her. Sure, she could be at times a little too much to handle, but she was harmless. No, the true risk came in the monsters he was paid to hunt, to kill, the beasts that haunted the neighboring woods or lurked beneath the closest body of water, that is where the real danger lied for a human. 

Even if Julia did smell of fear when a wyvern got too close, when a kikimora’s reach stretched too far, she never wavered and remained faithful by his side. Even if that could all be excused as a lack of self-preservation or foolish bravery it just didn’t sit right in the White Wolf's mind. So he started looking, actually paying attention to what she did and how the world around her reacted to her presence. 

The first affirmation towards his growing suspicion he notices is this, she’s not a humble bard. 

_One..._

_The Peony_ gets invited to perform at a lord's home. At first, he believes it to be an onslaught of her newly formed fame, all thanks to her frankly tasteless hit “T _oss a Coin to Your Witcher_ ”, it isn’t. She gets invited to perform because said lord, the honorable Larcen of Rerberg is a close friend of Viscountess Julia Adas Pankratz, Viscountess of Lettenhove and isn’t that just another reason to add to the already staggering long list of reasons as to why she should not be traveling with him. 

“It’s just a silly title Geralt, honestly.” She says, scoffing off his accusing glare. 

“You're a noble, a Viscountess, why in Meliteles name would you willingly live the life of a vagabond?” 

“The world has a lot more to offer than any title ever will.” Is all she says on that matter, before going back to strumming her lute, effectively cutting off the conversation. 

In hindsight, it explains her clothes preference for flashy silks and colorful capes with intricate needlework, a vast contrast compared to his simple yet practical outfits of black shirts and trousers. It’s a topic they have come to a dispute over many times in the past month they’ve been traveling together. Regardless of the end of the matter, what truly aggravates him is not that she was invited, but rather that she accepts wholeheartedly _for the both of them_. He’s dragged to a manor and offered a room that no tavern could ever have, he’s greeted with a ready-made bath and a set of fine clothes to be worn for the evening's event.

He hates it and wants nothing more than to end this ridiculous facade but doesn’t. He stays and bathes and changes and makes himself ready not because he wants to or is expected to, he does it because he knows it will please her, make her happy and for some unfathomable reason...he wants to. Make her happy that is.

Julia’s performance at the lord's house is the flashiest he has ever seen, in part thanks to halls decoration, garlands upon garlands are strung and hung from any ready surface available, all made from poppies, peonies, daisies and many other flowers he has not the patience nor the knowledge to name, she does so for him, happily might he add. So yes the room meant for the party is alight in spring colors and candlelit light but the other factor that makes this performance stand out from all others in the past is Julia herself. She’s dressed to impress far more than what he’s become used to, she glides into the hall in the most form-fitting golden dress he has ever laid eyes on, hair partially coiffed atop her head and elfen lute secured over her shoulder.

She plays and sings as if possessed, dancing her way from one table to another leaving in her wake clapping and foot-stomping, it's madness. Nobles and ladies of the court find themselves stumbling their way to the center eager to partake in the chaos she’s unleashed in the lord's manor, they act as if drunk, high on the magic she let loose into the air, he doesn't know it at the time but that is exactly what it is. Magic, born from careless joy coiling itself in the very air they breathe, he stays in the farthest possible corner and stares at the frenzy before him just as enraptured like the rest. 

By the end of the festivities, it is late into the early hours of the morning, far later than what he would have liked his evening to have been extended too, yet he possesses no recollection of the hour's pass. He finds Julia tucked into a corner body carelessly splayed over a richly covered chaise, lute laid securely by her side and a half-empty cup of wine dangling precariously from loose-limbed hands. 

“It's late,” he says, crouching down to eye level with his blue-eyed bard. 

She giggles, nearly sloshing the contents of the cup over her dress, Geralt sights fondly, the air leaving him through his nose, the very corner of his lip twitching. He takes the cup from slim fingered hands the rings adorning them just as bright as the rest of her and places it far from both on the mosaic floor. 

“ _No_ ” She bemoans jerking upward, arms lax hands attempting to make a grab, he takes them hostage in his own. 

“No more, it’s late.” 

Julia pouts, petulant, her head lolls to the side eyes pleading and boring into his own. 

“No more.” Geralt repeats gently but firm, he drops her hands atop her lap and reading his pose, from one moment to be next he’s scooped her up and carried her out of the hall. Few offer a secondary glance at the odd pair, too inebriated and high on the music that still rings in their mind to care. 

“Did we have to go?” She asks voice terribly small, tiered. Geralt looks down at the woman cradled in his arms, he takes in the cornflower blue of her eyes made all the wider by the cole lining them, at the loose strands of chestnut hair made free from all her dancing, at the red that flushed her freckled cheeked from all the wine she’s drunk. He takes her in and draws her in just that little bit closer to his slowly beating heart. 

“Yes” he rumbles, and that’s that. She concedes, letting her eyelids drop and her head falls back tucked safely into his chest trusting him with her safety once again. So he walks, making his way back to the rooms entrusted to both and allows himself one private smile for his little bard who is in truth far from humble. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please feel free to comment or kudo, I love reading your thoughts and opinions! :D


	3. The Scholar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello loves, how are you holding up? I sincerely hope everyone is doing ok and staying safe, these are crazy times. As a little pick me up here's an added segment or continuation for my Julia Adas fic, we get a little more character development and interaction between our favorite duo!

_Two..._

By the time they’ve been traveling together for over three months, it’s been established that Julia is not humble, at least she does not originate from humble origins though she will forever insist on being a bard. 

“You are not a bard” Geralt continually presses, too rooted in age-old beliefs that if born a noble you by default remain a noble. Impractical, outdated, Julia mutters side-eyeing him from atop Roache’s back, because that’s a thing now, another unspoken practice seamlessly added into their routine. He lets her ride Roach, sometimes it's both straddling the saddle other times it’s just her with Geralt holding the reins from below. It happens when the hours have stretched too far, when the road is too unreliable for her unsteady feet (always twitching, eager to dance) but mostly it’s because Julia ventures to ask in a subdued tone. 

He gives in every single time, the same way he’s done now. 

“You take that back _this instant_ Geralt!” Julia gasps, dramatic as always, breaking the ma- _mutant_ out of his rumination and bringing him back to the conversation at hand. 

“Why? It’s the truth, you’re not a bard, you're a Viscountess.” 

“I may be a Viscountess at birth but a bard at profession, therefore, _I am_ a bard thank you very much!” It’s said hotly with the same air only one privileged with a pampered life can hold. 

So yes, she insists on being referred to as a bard.

“How did you even end up on the roads of Posada posing as one?” He grunts unaccustomed to being the one leading much less initiating any form of conversation. She goes stiff atop Roach, fingers plucking a little too hard on lute chords, the tips of her ears flushing at the question or loss of control, perhaps both who knows? 

“We’ll see, now that tidbit is a little bit embarrassing, to be frank.”

“Hmm?”

“Let’s just say I have a, well, a problem. I tend to be rather... _competitive_.” 

So she elaborates, at first shyly of all things, a complete disparity to her usual fanfare but confidence seeping back in as she does what she loves, spin a tale. Julia explains how after studying all seven of the liberal arts and naturally _mastering them_ , a fellow... _academic_ had dared to question her success claiming her a fraud, a talentless, privileged little girl who’s only value lied in the money gained from her dowry. In other words, a harlot who slept her way to success. 

Valdo Marx, the entitled prick of a man had the audacity to not only question her talent but to outright belittle her worth in front of esteemed peers no less. Naturally, she’d been furious, who wouldn’t? The words spoken that day had been as good as a physical attack on her persona, on her pride and livelihood. So a contest had been proposed, the graduate whose fame extended to the farthest corners of the continent within a year's time _first,_ would take all. That is to say, the glory and the satisfaction of publicly shaming the other, like hell she was going to lose. 

“You didn’t,” He said, unable to believe there existed a being so hell-bent on being right they would willingly subject themselves to the hardships of a traveler's life. 

“I did”

“ _Why?_ ”

“Well, I'm rather good at it aren’t I?” 

As much as it hurt _his_ pride to admit it, he couldn’t negate the fact, much less after the whirlwind of a hit her first well thought out single had become. So he shut his mouth and swallowed back any further reprimand and kept walking, guiding both Roach and his stubborn bard along the never-ending road. 

“Why a bard?” The words slip out without his notice, an alarmingly increasing occurrence around her. They’d set camp earlier that evening, an hour before the sun began to set, its fading rays barely breaching the canopy embracing them, offering shelter from all sides and the sky. Geralt loath as he was to admit, found himself unable to put their prior conversation to rest, there was just something about his uninvited companion that kept him second-guessing, she was a mystery all of her own.

“I want to make history!” She said, chipper as a sprite, kneeling down before the fire and over the secondhand bedroll, Geralt had lent her. 

“By singing and writing ballads about others'... adventures?” The words sounded uncertain, strained to his own ears. 

“No, no of course not!” Julia exclaimed bodily turning around to face him, flames of the fire he’d ignited not long ago escaped from beneath an iron pot, licking greedily at the air, painting shadows upon unmarred skin, so different from his own. He grunted, amber eyes briefly meeting cornflower blue before returning to attentiveness over the poorly seasoned stew. 

She huffed, body stretching and compressing in one move, then continued, patient, serene.

“I plan on making history by being a part of them, the stories that is; by being their voice.” He gave a curt nod and that was all the confirmation she needed before carrying on, growing more passionate with each word. 

“Writing, singing, composing, I never ventured to do it for fame. No. I did it for something much grander than that, fame is a fickle mistress, she is loud and she is boisterous but not permanent. History on the other hand... _History is_ what generations upon generations will talk about, it is the only accomplishment that can transcend time itself."

She sounded so sure, so absolutely certain of herself and her beliefs he couldn’t help but agree. So he hummed in acceptance and scooped a generous serving of the undoubtedly God awful stew into a maple wood bowl and handed it over with no further comment on his part, effectively ending the conversation. Later when a contract to dangerous for her to be a part of surges, when the opportunity to perform at another lords house rises, when they are forced to split apart until both are done only to rendezvous two towns over he will wait for his little bard at the least seedy of taverns he can find, and if on his way he encounters a rather rude bard by the name of Valdo Marx well, no one needs to be the wiser for his broken lute, after all, Roach is prone to bite. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed it! It's honestly not what I had originally planned to write, but in the end, it felt right to go this direction, again really hope you liked it and I would love to hear (aka read) from you! Feedback and personal thoughts are always appreciated, but if you're too shy for that then a kudo is fine! 
> 
> Stay safe and be strong!


	4. The Wendigo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello loves, it’s me again! Here’s a little more of my Julia Adas AU, hope you enjoy!

• Part One •

_Three…_

Julia has spent a total of 17 weeks and 14 days in Geralt's company, in other words, four months and a half. In that time she has come to learn the following about her reluctant travel companion:

  1. He adores Roach.
  2. His favorite words are _“Hmm”_ and “ _Fuck!”._
  3. He is by far much older than she is.
  4. He lacks basic hygiene.
  5. The mountain of a man is a feral bleeding heart. 



The first four anyone could guess at with a little time, it’s the last observation on her list that would have any person looking at her oddly because really, _a kind-hearted Witcher?_ She must be out of her mind! She’s not. Honest, in the reasonably long time she’s traveled by his side, because being in the company of a witcher, _any witcher_ for any extended period of time that surpasses a few minutes to an hour at the most, is a feat all on its own. She has seen Geralt go to great extents he did not have to take for others. From accepting less coin as payment from an obviously desperate farmer, to playing the role of a carpenter for a widowed old lady, even acting as a stand-in bodyguard for a very insistent up and coming bard. Because yes, she is gaining fame and by default getting invited to perform at court more often, _not just_ by friends.

So yes, he does in fact have a heart, one that at times bleeds too deeply, and though she admires that specific trait of his, at times it seems to bleed for the wrong person or cause; as it does now. 

Their newest point of residence is a miserable little town with just as wretched individuals nestled in the deeper part of the woods. The buildings are rickety and sparse, all consisting of unevenly chopped wood, clay, and straw, darkened by the passage of time, their structures are as unstable as the looks many of the people they’ve encountered carry in their eyes. It's overall an unnerving experience, one she wishes to outright evade by simply departing. The old-growth forest, and its many shadows appearing far more inviting. 

Destiny whistles overhead, her wind constantly weaving its way through the many leaves and branches, making the otherwise dead air just that little bit more bearable. She urges her to move on, to cross over the town's limit and keep traveling, to not stop. For the first time in many months Julia does not need Destiny to point out the danger she has found herself in, she feels it, she felt it long before she and Gerald had stumbled on the little settlement. A feeling of foreboding, curling itself deep in her chest, choking out her every breath. This forest, this town, _its people,_ it's sick. What little magic she is aware of possessing lashes out, it flares in warning, the tips of her fingers _burn._ She wants to leave, no, _they have to leave._

Yet to her utter dismay, Geralt is hired within the hour of their arrival, the contract too richly paid to pass up. 

Apparently, there are ghosts haunting the woods, they moan at night and fog the windows of the houses with spectral breath leaving behind rot and pestilence. The village alderman, a decrepit man by the name of Aset, who silently boasts of a large stature despite the hunch now curving his back is quick to inform. 

“You’re staying at the inn.” It's an order, not a suggestion nor a question, Julia, with every intention to object is silenced by the unexpected feeling of spindle-like fingers curling over her shoulders. 

“I’ll take her there myself, you get along now Witcher.” 

Just like that, with no further consideration of what might be a possible comeback she’s pulled back, away from Geralt, and tucked unnecessarily close to the others hunched body, Aset’s stale breath no more than a puff in the dawning cold. 

Geralt does no more than briefly eye her, sparring but a second to offer a nod before walking away. The lack of concern and the perfect strangers' increasing grip, has her heart pounding the farther he walks. She resolves to throw glances over her shoulder despite being corralled towards the opposite direction, a childish attempt to reassure herself that he is still there within sight, she does so continuously, despite being unwillingly chaperoned to the only inn by a man that has her silently grinding her teeth while Destiny howls above. Yet as much as she’d love to briskly shrug off the others hold on her and make a run for the only tangible being present she trusts, she can’t because by then the bloody inn’s door is being opened, the old man has coerced her in, the sun has already set and a bolt lock has been clicked. 

She’s by all means and purposes trapped.

“You'll do well here sweet, y’er Witcher companion will surely be back by morning” Is said so saccharinely it's nauseating, yet that being as it may as a partaker of courtly etiquette she swallows down any growing resentment like one would rising bile and smiles. 

“Oh I have no doubt about that, Geralt will definitely be back” He falters, crooked grin straining at the corners, crows feet darkening around slightly narrowed eyes, a predator's glint hidden deep within the iris. 

“Just stay away from the windows, y’hear? ” 

“Right, of course. Away from the windows and the ghosts that roam the night, no trouble at all.” 

“Right, I’ll be taking my leave now sweet. Good night.” 

“Good night.” Her words leave barley a hint in the air before he does just so, leave that is. He turns around, not before giving her one last appraising look as he pulls the bolt lock and the heavy wooden door in one move. His retreating back blending in seamlessly with the shadows created by the canopy of trees and the last rays of fading light engulfing the village, his silhouette becoming oddly distorted, shoulders growing and muscles rolling, it's a blink and miss moment, one that is abruptly cut by a hasty barmaid slamming the door shut and the bolt lock back into place. 

Julia doesn’t offer a performance that evening, and she isn’t asked for one. Opting instead for a seat in the nearest chair available, she flags down a barmaid for a cup of mead and bowl of dubious-looking broth, watery and lukewarm, the accompanying bread-roll no more than a rock. It's a meager meal, another reason to further dislike the village. As a whole, it's an overall depressing sight, one interrupted only by the brusk scrape of metal on wood, annoying and grating on the nerves and ears. She looks up, eyes meeting those of the same pale-faced barmaid who had deigned to serve her. 

“Y’er key.” 

“...Pardon?”

“For y’er room, up the stairs second door on the left.” She points, loose shirt sleeve hanging from a bony wrist, the veins oddly dark and pronounced. 

“Thanks.” Julia stands, the word being said in passing as she walks away, seeing no further point in delaying her stay. The stair steps creak and groan with any added weight, it is surprisingly the only normal feature she can find. The poorly lit hall that greets her at the top does nothing to shake further misgivings, if anything the growing anxiety just makes the warning bells at the back of her skull ring all that louder. She walks the instructed distance, her pace brisk, continuously trying to ignore the shadows pressing further into her space, the key becoming warmer with the heat of her palm and the breath getting caught in her throat. It's not until she is inside the proffered room, with the door’s lock firmly in place and a stray chair shoved right under the handle that she feels safe enough to breathe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who has taken the time to read, kudo or comment, it means a lot! Stay safe! 
> 
> Also if any of you want to see Julia, I made fan art of her, just click the link! 
> 
> https://www.instagram.com/p/B_LSLFqnGP8/?igshid=oatqhpppkwgb


	5. The Wendigo

·Part Two·

There’s an odd tapping, one her slowly waking mind faintly registers as the sound of fingernails on glass. It’s shrill and insistent and it’s making her want to throw a pillow at whoever is bold enough to do that in the early morning hours. 

“G’away, ‘m sleeping” she mumbles into the cold air, 

There's a beat of blessed silence, one she manages to treasure but for a moment before the tapping starts up again, growing in persistency. She huffs in clear irritation, twisting and turning her body on the lumpy bed, succeeding only in pushing the bed covers off her head and having them bunch around her shoulders. Bleary eyes heavy with sleep attempt to focus their attention on the source, it’s not until the sound has fully registered in her mind, and why that’s _bad_ that she realizes: – _Shit, someone is tapping on my window._

Within moments her body breaks out into cold sweat. Her breathing becomes labored, each exhale a visible puff in the chilled alcove. She can hear Destiny cry out, urging her to wake up. Her voice being carried through the roughly swayed treetops, accompanied by a woman's moan, she shivers, partially from the cold sinking into her bones and from the knowledge that the room's sole window lies right above her. 

“Click, click, _click_ ” 

With a stunt gasp, she looks up, noting how the window’s glass has become frost-covered, whether it’s a natural occurrence from the changing weather or a reaction from her ghostly visitor she does not know. Braving the chill and what might lie in waiting right above her she fully shakes off the covers weakly gripping at her shoulders, the bed’s frame creaking with the motion of her body turning over. Slender fingers take hold of the window’s edge, leg muscles tightly coil in preparation, with bated breath she lunges upward only to find; 

Nothing. 

Julia encounters nothing but her own reflection staring back at her, wide blown eyes, parted lips, and a heaving chest. She sees nothing, until she does. Slowly, almost delicately fingertips make their appearance one by one, melting the frost with non-existent warmth, they keep materializing until a palm is fully formed. She nearly chokes on a scream. 

More frost began to melt away, further clearing the windows surface, making room for moonbeams to break through, bathing her little room in a pallid blue shine. It was among the breaks of melting ice and alien light that _her_ face took form, in the span of a heartbeat Julia's eyes had met a pair eerily similar to her own. 

“ _Fuck!”_ The word came tumbling out of her throat, the same way she did in her haste to get away from the window and the deceased woman staring back at her. Toppling off the bed she dragged its accompanying sheets along with her, the coarse material tangling itself around clumsy feet. Julia did her best to kick them away, scrambling on the floor for purchase, her nails digging and pulling at the floors rotten wood, bare feet barely scraping the surface. She’d made it halfway across the room before she was able to properly coordinate her flailing limbs, willing them into obedience, forcing herself to properly stand. 

By then more faces and hands had joined the one at the window, subtly shifting from one side to another in order to make room. To her growing horror, they were all mangled. It was a sick collage of crudely ripped skin and exposed bone. 

Julia wanted to cry. 

Hell, she wanted to move, to scream, to curse, to _run._ But she didn’t. Paralyzed by fear she remained there, standing and panting with strands of hair stuck to her forehead from sweat. The woman whose moan had woken her crept just that little bit closer, rancid breath fogged the windows clear surface, frost grew anew, creeping from the edges and making its way to the very center succeeding in blocking the sight she’d been subjected to until there was nothing left to behold. All grew quiet. The others moaning ceased, the trees quaking lessen to silence, even Destiny’s cries came to a halt. 

All was still, all but the rapid beating of her heart and the constant pump of blood running through her veins. All was still, until it wasn’t.

_“Run child, before you too are devoured!”_

_“Leave!”_

_“It wants you!”_

_“Go home!”_

_“Get back to your Witcher!”_

The voices of thousands descended upon her, their warnings rattling through the glass. All growing in pitch, becoming static, she hunched over, manicured nails biting into the soft flesh of her ears. 

“ _Stop, please stop!”_ Julia yelled back, her words becoming lost in the echo. Destiny swirled above, breaking through the windows cracked frame and surrounding her. Her touch unassertive, gentle in nature but restrained from intent in her internal struggle between offering comforting or coaxing Julia to move along. Disarray curls of hair thrashed and ricocheted from the winds force. Destiny circled her over and over again doing her best to block the others' cries from reaching her, the air in the room thinned forcing Julia to take in shuddered gulps of breath. Her mind dulled, the lack of oxygen doing its job and slowing more than her thoughts. It was at that moment, that Julia heard _her_ , unlike she'd ever before.

“Run, _Adas_ ”. Destiny pleaded, her voice filtering through the chaos surrounding Julia. Just like that reality came crashing down upon her with the equivalent force of a crescent from a storm woven wave. Geralt, she had to find her way back to him. With a renewed resolve she made way and stepped out of the cursed room, what once was a poorly lit hall was now a blackened cave, the floorboards creaked under her bare feet the chill still set deep in her bones, there were no spare candles waiting to be lit by restless tenants and no windows from which the moon's light could gleam through, even the air felt stale and lifeless. 

Julia moved, one tentative step at a time, testing and teasing the wood with the tip of her toe before allowing the full weight of her body to settle atop it, long fingers glided over the closest wall, the calloused flesh catching on the ridges of the woodwork. She continued this way until her toes caught and curled over the tread of the first stair-step, looking down she was met with the same all-consuming darkness and dead silence of the hall she’d just left. The voices of the ghosts haunting the town hadn’t followed her, miraculously, but the chill of their breath still clung to her like velvet drapes, the weight of their words making her pause and think on what exactly they had said. If they were to be believed, then the real threat lied not in the dead but in the living, just as her magic had indicated hour earlier when it had sparked to life in a low thrum and as it did now, it's pulsing slowly working life back into her numbed limbs, heating her from her core and outwards. 

The floor’s creaking without her added weight to do so startled her right out of her musings, her magic sizzling in a warning. Julia turned around, disarray curls flying wildly around her; she wasn’t quick enough. She saw a flash of white before gravity took hold of her. Down she went, each tread digging into the soft of her back, the sharp edges working their way into bruising her spine. She thudded her way over to a stop at the bottom, body rolling one’s or twice at the tavern's floor, head banging loudly on a table's leg. The distinct sound of footsteps followed her fall, leisure, and sure. Julia groaned before everything went black. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, so here's part two of The Wendigo series, hope you like it! 
> 
> As always, kudos and comments are life, and speaking of life, stay at home, and please be safe!

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is me writing and posting a fic after months of inactivity. I know it’s a bit on the short side, but I rather liked it and I hope you did too! 
> 
> Feel free to kudo or comment! :)


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